Knight of Betrayal

by Karen Perkins

  A deep, clear river sparkled in the late afternoon sunlight before them, above which the red-orange sandstone cliff towered. Trees and lush vegetation grew to the very banks of the River Nydde.

  As the horsemen approached the river, a group of young goatherds looked up from their charges and spotted them.

  ‘Á Morville,’ they cried and a couple ran up the steep bank towards the town.

  ‘Á Morville?’ Tracy asked with a smile. ‘You have them well trained.’

  Morville shrugged, pleased at the welcoming war cry, but trying not to show it to his companions.

  He led the way, his palfrey splashing through the shallow waters of the ford. ‘Take care not to stray too far to either side, the waters can be treacherous,’ he called to the following men. The knights glanced at each other and smirked, knowing full well that Morville was enjoying his role as overlord and the chance to assert the authority this status gave him, over Reginald FitzUrse in particular. All the men, not just the knights, but the accompanying men-at-arms of each house, had had more than enough of The Bear’s overbearing bluster on their exhausting ride north.

  ‘What are the defences on the far side?’ FitzUrse called to Morville. ‘I doubt you are as well-protected from the town as you are from the river.’

  ‘The curtain wall is twenty feet high and four feet thick. The ditch is being deepened, but will be completed shortly, especially now that I’m here to oversee the work.’

  ‘Towers?’

  ‘At all four compass points, including those of the gates, although the southern tower is still under construction, as you can see.’

  ‘It sounds like there is much still under construction.’ Tracy laughed.

  Morville turned in his saddle. ‘When I was entrusted with the castle, it was little more than motte and bailey. That was seven years ago. In that time, the curtain wall has been raised, towers constructed, and the keep is now of stone. If you disapprove, you are more than welcome to continue to Scotland as Broc suggested and try your welcome there.’

  Tracy held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘No offence meant, My Lord. It is a wondrous castle.’

  The others laughed and Morville screwed up his face in disgust, faced forward once more and spurred his palfrey up the steep bank of Brig-Gate.

  *

  ‘My apologies, My Lord,’ Tracy whispered once they’d reached flatter ground. ‘I did not mean to insult. It just struck me that we may be under siege here before long should the King take up arms against us.’

  Morville glanced at him and sighed. He knew that Tracy was suffering larger and longer pangs of conscience than any of the others. He was not a killer by nature, merely a follower of killers.

  ‘The King needed Becket stopped before he did any more harm. He was a traitor. Had we not taken care of the problem he would have revolted against not only the Young King, but King Henry himself. You know this to be true, we have talked of little else since we left Canterbury.’

  ‘Bad things happen, William,’ FitzUrse bellowed from behind them. ‘We served our king well, he shall reward us.’

  ‘And Broc?’ Morville asked.

  ‘Yes, he shall reward Broc as well,’ FitzUrse replied with a grin. ‘Handsomely, no doubt.’

  ‘Broc won’t . . . betray us?’ Richard le Brett asked. As the youngest, of lowest status, and the man who had dealt the fatal blow, he had become the quietest, most timid of the quartet.

  ‘He would no doubt attempt it should it be to his benefit,’ FitzUrse laughed, ‘but he hosted us at Saltwood Castle. He accompanied us and he supplied men-at-arms. We had more than enough between us, but he wanted a share of the glory.’

  ‘And the loot,’ Morville muttered. The four of them had helped themselves to gold plate and coin as they left. Broc and his men had taken everything else of value in the Archbishop’s Palace, although had left the cathedral treasures. That would have been a sacrilege too far.

  ‘He cannot betray us without betraying himself,’ FitzUrse continued.

  ‘But what of his suggestion for us to flee to Scotland?’ Tracy asked.

  FitzUrse bellowed laughter. ‘His idea of a jest, is all.’

  ‘A jest? To send us to a man who would gladly hang us as Englanders?’

  ‘He has an evil sense of humour.’

  ‘Á Morville! Á Morville!’

  The knights’ conversation was halted by the cheers as the townsfolk swarmed out of the alleyways to greet their returning overlord.

  Morville raised his gauntleted hand in acknowledgement of the praise.

  ‘They love you here,’ FitzUrse said in wonder.

  ‘No, they love the coin we will have to spend in the market. Look behind you.’

  The knights twisted in their saddles to view the trailing men-at-arms. A force drawn from four houses.

  ‘The population of Cnaresburg has just doubled.’

  Chapter 9

  Morville led the way over the drawbridge and through the north gate, and the knights clattered into the courtyard of the outer ward. Grooms rushed from the stables at the noise and the men jumped down from their mounts.

  ‘Welcome to Cnaresburg Castle, My Lords,’ Morville said. ‘Make yourselves at home, we may be residing here for some time.’

  The knights grimaced, all of them wondering the same thing: how had King Henry received the news of their deeds?

  Morville led them through the inner gate to the bailey of the inner ward and pointed out the chapel and administration buildings. Nobody paid much attention. Once past the grandeur of the situation of the castle, the innards were nothing remarkable. The curtain walls and keep were the only stone edifices; all else was timber. Whilst it was apparent much building work had been undertaken, it was just as apparent there was a great deal still to be done.

  *

  ‘Helwise, welcome our guests,’ Morville said to his wife, who stood at the door to the stone tower of the keep.

  ‘Husband,’ she acknowledged and nodded.

  Brett, the last to be admitted, wondered at the faint trace of a smile on Lady de Morville’s face at such an abrupt greeting.

  Hugh de Morville flung open the doors to his great hall and stopped in shock. The force of FitzUrse blundering into his back pushed him onward and he took a couple of paces forward before once again coming to an abrupt halt. Cursing, FitzUrse, Tracy and Brett stepped around him before halting themselves and Brett understood the reason for the young Helwise de Morville’s pleasure in spite of her husband’s rude homecoming.

  Morville remembered his manners and bowed to the men seated at the lord’s table, instigating equivalent gestures from his companions. ‘My Lords, I-I-I welcome you to my castle.’

  ‘Not your castle, Morville, my brother’s, King Henry. You are merely custodian here. For the present, at least,’ said Sir Hamelin Plantagenet, Earl of Surrey. Seated at the overlord’s place – Sir Hugh de Morville’s seat – at the lord’s table at the head of the hall, it was very clear to all present who held authority at Cnaresburg Castle this day. It was not Sir Hugh de Morville, Lord of the Manor of Cnaresburg, Baron of Burgh-on-the-Sands, Lord of Westmoreland.

  Morville gathered his composure and greeted the other great men seated at his table.

  Sir William de Courcy Lord of Harewood, and Morville’s close neighbour Sir William de Percy Baron of Topcliffe, Lord of Spofford and Wetherby, sat at either side of Hamelin Plantagenet. None of the three appeared pleased to see the four travel-worn knights.

  Morville looked around the bustling hall, nearly full he now realised, his awareness of his surroundings having been paralysed by his shock of seeing three great lords; three of King Henry’s innermost and most loyal circle. He noted who else was present: Nigel de Plumton; Sir John Goldesburgh; Gamellor, Lord of the Manor of Beckwith; Morville’s brother-in-law, William de Stoteville; and even his forester, Thomas de Screven. Everyone of any import in the vicinity was here, dining at Morville’s pleasure, and cost, without his knowledge.
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  ‘H-H-How . . . ?’ he stammered and FitzUrse poked him in the back. Morville drew himself to his full height and tried again. ‘Forgive me, My Lords, it is of great surprise to find you here. We rode like the wind . . .’

  ‘Yes,’ Plantagenet drawled. ‘From Canterbury. We heard. Then we sailed with the wind to ask you what the hell you were thinking.’

  ‘Becket,’ Morville began.

  ‘Yes, Becket. Pray, enlighten us.’

  ‘He was a traitor.’ FitzUrse stepped forward, unwilling to allow Morville to plead his case on his behalf. ‘He was planning to depose the Young King and, more than likely, King Henry himself. He was a man of great ambition, it is of no surprise to anyone that he had his sights on the crown of England. King Henry wanted him stopped. We stopped him.’

  ‘You certainly did that,’ Plantagenet said.

  ‘How did King Henry take the news?’ Morville found the courage to ask.

  ‘Ahh, the pertinent enquiry.’ Plantagenet pushed his trencher aside, crossed his arms and leaned forward on the table, glaring at the nervous knights.

  He pulled back and addressed the men sitting either side of him. ‘How would you say my brother took the news of the horrific murder of his closest friend of, what, twenty years?’

  Courcy and Percy solemnly shook their heads.

  ‘Panic-stricken,’ Courcy said.

  ‘I have never heard such lengthy lamentations,’ Percy said.

  Plantagenet nodded, then braced his elbows on the table once more and regarded the knights. The hall, filled with near two hundred men, was silent, every ear turned to hear the Earl’s words.

  ‘Panic. Lamentation. Yes. He then fell into a stupor, gentlemen.’

  The knights winced. Whether at the news or the insult of ‘gentlemen’ was not clear.

  ‘He fell into a stupor,’ Plantagenet repeated. ‘Took to his bedchamber and naught was heard nor seen of him bar his groans of grief and constant prayers for the safekeeping of Becket’s soul.’

  As one, the knights paled and stepped back at this most dreadful news.

  ‘He would admit no one, nor any succour; no flesh of any kind. And you know how my brother enjoys flesh.’

  The lords at the table laughed, banging their fists on the wood. Henry had an appetite befitting a king; he loved his food and his women, and could never have his fill of either. This was serious.

  The knights stayed silent.

  FitzUrse glanced behind, but the door to the great hall was closed, with pikemen stationed to either side. There would be no escape that way. Just as there had been none for Thomas Becket.

  ‘What say you to that, gentlemen?’

  Morville fell to one knee, followed by Tracy, Brett and, after a pause, FitzUrse.

  ‘My Lord, I am grievously wounded to hear such news. The King demanded vengeance on the Archbishop, our only aim was to obtain that for His Majesty.’

  ‘He demanded action from Mandeville and Humez!’ Plantagenet roared, leaping to his feet. ‘He gave you no such instruction!’

  ‘But My Lord . . .’ Morville faltered as Plantagenet raised his eyebrows and scowled.

  ‘The eve of the Great Council,’ FitzUrse broke in. ‘At supper, the King demanded vengeance from anyone who had the courage to obtain it. We had that courage. My Lord,’ he added, casting his eyes down once more.

  ‘Courage? Courage, is that what you call it? Stupidity to the utmost degree, say I! You broke the sanctity of Canterbury Cathedral! You killed an archbishop on his altar steps. An archbishop armed only with a hair shirt! How is that courage?’

  A hair shirt? All four of the knights blanched. He was pious after all?

  ‘My Lord, we attempted to take him peacefully,’ Morville ventured, swallowing the lump in his throat at the unwelcome news. ‘We did so without arms and without mail. He laughed at us and laughed at the King.’

  ‘He laughed at the King?’ Plantagenet asked.

  ‘He did, My Lord,’ FitzUrse said. ‘So we regained our arms and returned for him. He refused to leave the cathedral, made it impossible for us to remove him, and taunted us. By taunting us, the King’s men, he taunted the King. We could not permit that.’

  ‘I see.’ Plantagenet retook his seat. ‘I see, well, that does shine a different light on things.’

  ‘It does?’ Tracy asked, speaking his first words since entering the hall.

  ‘Well, it would had Ranulf de Broc not already made that clear.’

  ‘My Lord?’ Morville asked, confused.

  Plantagenet laughed. ‘It has been said that had my brother not been high-born, he would have made an excellent mummer, is that not so?’

  Courcy and Percy looked at their trenchers and made no reply.

  ‘Oh come now, My Lords, I hear the talk, we are amongst friends here. I ask you again, is that not so?’

  Courcy relaxed and nodded. ‘Yes, it has been said, My Lord.’

  ‘Excellent. And what say you, do I have some of his skill?’

  ‘Worthy of a prince,’ Courcy said.

  The knights glanced at each other in confusion, unable to understand what was happening.

  ‘Oh stand, My Lords, stand.’

  The knights regained their feet.

  ‘My brother has to put on a show. He must appease the Pope, do you understand?’

  The knights nodded, yet still appeared uncertain.

  ‘Before he secluded himself, he sent messengers to Rome, and included details of his seclusion within his missives.’

  The knights glanced at each other, now starting to understand. Or at least, they hoped they did.

  ‘As long as Henry’s messengers reach Pope Alexander first, this unfortunate incident shall be brought to an amenable close.’

  ‘And if they are not first?’ Morville asked.

  ‘Well, then all Hell and the fury of Christendom shall descend on your souls.’

  Chapter 10

  Jack, the head steward of Cnaresburg Castle, placed dishes of thrice-cooked pork, onion and beans on to the lord’s table and the hungry knights speared large pieces with their eating knives. For a while, all was silent as they sated their hunger and thirst.

  FitzUrse was the first to sit back, signalling for more wine. ‘That was quite a welcome,’ he said. ‘I thought it would end with our heads on pikes on the towers of the gatehouse.’

  ‘I fear it was a near thing,’ Morville said. ‘Let us hope that the King’s messengers are the first to give Pope Alexander the news.’

  ‘They had me in fear and no mistake,’ Tracy said, emptying his goblet which was immediately refilled.

  ‘Am I to understand that you . . . killed the Archbishop, husband?’ Helwise de Morville said.

  ‘Hush, child.’ Morville swept his hand to the side, catching Helwise on the side of her face and rocking her back in her chair. Her face reddened and her eyes filled, but she gave no other outward reaction.

  ‘Hugh!’ her brother, William de Stoteville, exclaimed in her stead from her other side and placed a comforting arm around his sister’s shoulders.

  Morville leaned forward and pointed his eating knife at him. ‘Do not you disrespect me at my table, William, as does your sister.’

  Stoteville gritted his teeth together to prevent his retort, knowing his sister would likely pay for it later.

  Helwise shrugged his arm away and patted his knee with a small smile. Twenty years Morville’s junior she had been his wife seven years, since she was nine, and although Morville had only taken his marital dues in the last couple of years, she already knew to recognise his moods and behave accordingly.

  Despite the coldness in their marriage, she was glad of it; it had enabled her to not only remain in Cnaresburg, but run the castle and care for her town during her husband’s absences, which were frequent and lengthy.

  ‘Why do you think the lords did not remain to sup with us?’ Brett asked, gallantly coming to his hostess’s rescue. He gave her a small yet kind smile as soon as Morville�
�s attention was turned.

  ‘I fear they would withhold any outward show of favour until they hear of Pope Alexander’s reaction,’ Morville said and took a large gulp of wine.

  ‘What shall we do should Alexander condemn us?’ Tracy said, panic lacing his words.

  ‘He shall not,’ FitzUrse said with confidence. ‘He would be condemning King Henry should he do so and would not risk making such a powerful enemy.’

  ‘He may already view King Henry as an enemy,’ Morville said. ‘Remember I witnessed the Charter of Clarendon? It took away the freedom of the clergy and made them accountable in law to King not Church. Henry crowed about how he had beaten Alexander. I doubt the Pope took it lightly. He may see this as an opportunity for revenge.’

  ‘God’s wounds,’ Tracy muttered, emptying another goblet; an action repeated by his fellow knights as they considered the possible implications of their deeds. ‘No wonder the lords departed so hastily for Spofford.’

  ‘Calm yourselves, Percy is past his prime, eighty years and more has he not, Helwise?’ Morville turned to his wife who gave a curt nod. ‘An old man enjoys the comforts of his own home.’

  ‘And they’d supped their fill at your table, Hugh.’ FitzUrse roared with laughter.

  ‘Indeed,’ Morville said, spearing another slice of pork.

  ‘At least we need not explain ourselves further to them,’ Brett said. ‘And can rest and dine well after our ordeal.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Morville repeated and raised his goblet in a toast. ‘Comfort, safety and sanctuary.’

  The knights drank, as did Helwise and William, albeit reluctantly. They shared a quick glance acknowledging the hypocrisy of the toast to sanctuary.

  A serving girl leaned between Morville and Helwise to place a pie of apple, damson and dates before them. Helwise ignored her husband as he – heading into his cups – fondled the girl’s leg and rump at length.

  ‘That will be all, Mable,’ Helwise said, and the girl scurried away. Morville glared at his wife.